Perfect Storm
by Casscaro
Summary: Spike, Buffy, wet tshirts. What more do you need to know? A little bit of S5 my S5 at least bad weather. Long time since the last update sorry!
1. Default Chapter

Why was it, Buffy wondered, that it was always the little guys that gave her the most trouble? She swerved around a gravestone, negotiated a floral tribute, ducked under a low-hanging branch and ran on, her eyes fixed on her target. I mean, the big stupid ones? Always just stood and fought. The bigger they came, the stupider they seemed to be, and give her a big, dumb demon any day rather than the smart-assed little… she skidded to a halt and gave a frustrated growl. And what's more, the big guys didn't find it so easy to hide.

"OK. Come on out." She pushed aside a clump of ivy with the end of her crossbow and peered into the void of the empty tomb. Nothing but undisturbed dust and… _yeww!_... spiders. Big ones. _So _not going in there.

She turned around, scanning the shadows of the moonlit cemetery, crossbow cocked, poised and balanced. "You know, I'm gonna find you. It's just if you come out now I get to go home early to hot chocolate and marshmallows and you get to die less painfully. Your call and all, but…" A fleeting movement caught her eye, a brown-clad shape making for the exit from the graveyard. "Oh, no, you don't!" She really wasn't in the mood for a chase through the less salubrious alleyways of Sunnydale with all the attendant dangers of Saturday night fallout from the bars and clubs. Fighting through inebriated co-eds and sliding in pools of vomit in the alleyways was kind of over-rated as a pastime. This ended now. "Will you stand **still**!" she shouted without much hope of a reaction, and raced after the retreating form, weaving through the headstones and memorials. The little brown demon made the exit ahead of her – and stopped. It turned toward her and held up a hand, or at least she assumed the appendage thing it was holding up was a hand. She stopped and looked at it. It looked at her. This was somewhat disconcerting. Buffy shrugged. "OK – so you're the first ever demon to actually do what I asked." She raised the crossbow and aimed. "I guess I should thank you nicely." The bolt left the bow straight and true, heading through the exit gate toward the small huddled form. Only it didn't make it through the exit gate. It hung in the air, in a perfect line with the centre of the demon's chest, but just – going nowhere.

"Oh, that's no fair!" Buffy lowered the bow and frowned. "Force fields are cheating! You just turn it off right now!"

The demon gestured with its arm – and the moon went out. Buffy looked up at the sky. Heavy black clouds were roiling across the stars, blanking them out in rapid succession. "Oh, great." There was a flash of lightening, a deafening crash of thunder, and the heavens opened. "Well, that's just… wonderful." She glared at the demon which was standing, perfectly dry and bathed in moonlight, on the other side of its force field, and Buffy was damn sure that strange gurgling noise was laughter. Rain pouring down her face, she made a dash for the exit, only to bounce back from an invisible elasticity in the air. Perfect. Trapped.

She peered through the rain at the demon. "You know this is cheating, right? I'll bet there's some sort of demon code of ethics about this." The demon turned and began to shuffle away. "Hey! Come back and undo it! Now! _Ohhhh_!" She stamped her foot in frustration as the small figure disappeared into the shadows, chuckling quietly to itself. Damn it! It was probably going to be dining out on this for years, which given that the story was it dined on small furry animals was bad news for Sunnydale's cat and dog population. Not that, on reflection, she saw many cats in Sunnydale.

The lightening crashed and the thunder rolled and, not to be left out, an enthusiastic wind joined the weather party. Buffy pushed her wet hair back from her face and set off back through the cemetery. The rain was now pouring in cold rivulets down her back. Her cute but sexy-without-being-cheap little cotton t-shirt was soaked and providing very little in the way of protection against the wind, and as for her jeans… Wet denim? All kinds of bad.

She sensed something – a quick movement at the corner of her vision and spun around, peering through the sheeting rain, seeing nothing. Her slayer senses were on high alert, the tingling at the base of her spine screaming 'vampire' – and in this weather, she was the one at a disadvantage. Another half-sensed movement and she spun around again, frustrated by the lack of visibility. Nothing. But she could sense something. Something nasty was definitely lurking out there. She raised the crossbow, circling warily. _Over there!_ The bolt thudded uselessly into an ivy-covered memorial, and at that moment something grabbed her. She swung her fist wildly, made no contact, found her arm held in a vice-like grip that spun her around and suddenly she was staring straight into a pair of amused blue eyes.

"Spike." _Who else?_ She sighed in annoyance.

"Slayer." The grin matched the eyes. "You're gettin' slow."

"Wasn't trying. You're not worth the effort." She shook his hand from her arm, trying to look as relaxed as possible given that a small river was currently coursing down over her face.

Spike peered at her. "You're wet."

She rolled her eyes. _Never one to let go the chance of stating the obvious. _"No, really? Thank you for that. I hadn't noticed." She pushed her dripping hair back out of her eyes.

Spike squinted up at the sky and pulled his duster closer around him. "This weather isn't natural. And I can't get out of the cemetery, there's some sort of…" He looked over at Buffy, realisation dawning. "Oh, wait a minute! I'll bet this is your fault, isn't it? You've gone and pissed something off again, haven't you? Bloody hell, slayer, couldn't you just go mess in your own backyard 'stead of mine?"

"You don't know it was me!" Buffy glared at him. "It might just be a… a local weather wiggins."

"Very local. Like just the cemetery? And with the barring spell? Nope, this has 'another Buffy balls up' written all over it." There was another ominous roll of thunder. "And I'm out of fags and I can't get the hell out of here to go nick some more!"

"Oh, well, I'm very sorry you've been inconvenienced!" Buffy began to shiver. "If I'd known me trying to deal with some major badness would mean you missed out on your nicotine fix, I'd obviously just have let it go on terrorising the neighbourhood!" She sneezed suddenly and glared at Spike angrily. "And now I'm getting a cold."

Spike looked over at her, raised his eyes skywards and shrugged off his duster. "Here. Put this on. Keep the worst of it off for a while anyway. You can come back to my place 'til it's over."

"What are you doing?" Buffy stared at the coat in disbelief.

He looked at the coat and gave an exasperated snort. "Just offering! Personally, I'm quite happy with the wet T-shirt look." His eyes moved slowly down over her body.

Buffy looked down at herself and was suddenly very aware of how the combination of cool air and wet cotton was affecting her nipples. She dropped the crossbow and her hands flew to her breasts.

Spike smirked. "Want a little help there?"

"Go away," Buffy said icily, the urge to punch that smirk momentarily outweighed by the urge to keep her recalcitrant nipples under cover.

Spike shrugged. "You wanna catch pneumonia, that's up to you. I only care because if anythin' is going to kill you, I'd be happier if it was me." The thunder rolled again as he shrugged back into his duster. "I'm gonna go home, dry out, pour myself a nice drop 'o sipping whisky and watch a bit of telly." He looked up at the relentlessly stormy sky and gave Buffy a hard grin. "Enjoy." By the time her dazzled eyes had recovered from the next flash of lightening, he'd gone.

Muttering curses at Spike, the rain, and the effect the increasingly soggy ground was having on her stylish and inexpensive but completely impractical boots - but mainly at Spike - Buffy headed across the graveyard. She was hoping against all reasonable hope that perhaps the south exit was open. It wasn't. She made her frustrated way back into the heart of the cemetery where the more elaborate and larger tombs were concentrated, half-blinded by the rain, searching for a spider-free shelter. Luckily, it seemed that every other self-respecting member of the evil undead was cosily curled up in their crypts, and Buffy's angry stalking wasn't interrupted. That did, however, make her less than keen to blunder into an unknown crypt searching for shelter. She was hardly fit for fighting (wet denim chafed horribly, she was finding) and she was sort of concerned that the rain might have done her crossbow no good at all. The last thing she needed was rust. She looked up at the tomb in front of her. Well, there was one option….

She paused at the door, hand resting against the rough, worn wood. Really, _really_ not sure about this. Was hanging out in Spike's crypt really preferable to standing around in the rain? And the cold? And the… right on cue a blinding flash of lightening lit the rain-soaked graveyard, thunder reverberated around the tombs and if anything the down-pour intensified. Buffy flung open the crypt door and dashed inside.

As the door flew back on its hinges, Spike spun around, every muscle tensed, body poised for fight. And it was the body that prompted a squeaked "Oh!" from Buffy; because he didn't turn round quite quickly enough for her not to get a perfect, if fleeting, view of the long, lean expanse of his back above a hard, well-honed butt, his pale skin brushed gold by the candle light. And now he was facing her she had an equally perfect but much less fleeting view of a smooth, muscular chest, well-defined abdominals and… "Oh!" she squeaked again.

He grabbed his discarded T-shirt and held it in front of his crotch, frowning angrily. "Oh, well, come in why don't you!" he growled.

"You… said…" Buffy was aware she was blushing and quite possibly staring, but just at that moment she didn't seem to be able to avoid it. Amidst the 'ohmygodohmygodohmygod' panic that was holding her stunned brain in thrall, the sneaking and traitorous thought that 'Riley naked really didn't compare' was beginning to surface.

Spike smirked. "See anything you like, slayer?"

She spun around quickly as the hand holding the modesty-protecting T-shirt twitched. "No!" She kept her back to him resolutely. "Not even remotely."

"Wanna check?"

"No!" Buffy flushed furiously. "Will you just… put something… clothes… now."

"Spare your blushes. All decent." She waited until she heard the sound of a zipper then turned cautiously. Safely jeans-clad, Spike was shrugging on a black t-shirt. She felt vastly relieved – but also, in all honestly, vaguely disappointed. "So – do tell. How did this little fiasco come about?" His head emerged from the confines of the t-shirt, hair ruffled into short, curled spikes.

"There was this demon…" Buffy sighed.

"Oh, let me guess. Little guy, about yay high," he held his hand about a metre from the ground, "brown cloak, six arms. Yeah?"

"Well, I didn't count the arms – is that what they were? But… yeah, sounds like."

Spike sighed heavily and walked over to the fridge humming quietly in the corner. "Tarxu demon. What the hell made you pick on one of those?

"We… that is… Willow…"

"Oh right, blame the witch."

"Well, it fitted the MO!"

"Which was?"

"It… was… a demon."

"And we all look alike to you." Spike snorted from the depths of the fridge.

"No. I mean, it was clearly evil, what with the whole tentacley arms things – tentacles are evil, right? - and… and it kicked me!"

Spike re-emerged from the fridge clutching a bottle. "It kicked you? Good for it!"

"I had my back turned! I was all with the slaying and it came up behind me and kicked me on the ankle!" Spike's was watching her bemusedly, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth. "Hey! Not funny! It had sharp… toes." The twitching had turned into a broad grin and despite herself, Buffy found herself smiling back, abashed. "That sounds really lame, huh?"

"Well, yeah. The great slayer floored by a kick to the ankle from a knee-high demon? Has a certain lameness."

"Stop gloating."

"Maybe in a while." Spike opened the beer and took a drink. He looked over at her and held out the bottle, eyebrow cocked, as if suddenly remembering his manners.

"Yeww." Buffy wrinkled her nose in disgust.

He shrugged. "Something stronger?" He peered vaguely around the crypt. "Got a bottle of whiskey somewhere…"

"I don't think drinking strong liquor is a good idea right now," Buffy said primly.

Spike snorted. "What's the matter? Scared I'll get you drunk and take advantage of your precious virtue? Dream on, slayer!"

"How long do I have to put up with this?"

He shrugged. "It'll let up at dawn – spell'll fall apart once the light hits. You'll be able to get out then."

"You're telling me I'm stuck with you until dawn?"

"More than welcome to go brave the elements, pet." Spike sprawled comfortably in his chair. "Go for it. The wet look suits you." He gave a satisfied grin as her hands went automatically to her breasts.

She forced herself to drop them. "Don't start that again or I may just have to stake you."

"You could try." The grin became a challenge.

"Don't tempt me." She stood uncomfortably in the middle of the crypt. Now she was here, she wasn't exactly sure how to behave. Clearly, as a guest, her usual beat-him-up-and-go procedure was hardly suitable. She shivered again.

Spike was watching her quietly. "You should probably get out of those wet things. You'll catch a chill or whatever." The sudden disconcerting shift to concern threw her and she blinked at him mutely. _Spike_ was worried about her health? "There's probably something of Harmony's around somewhere," he gestured vaguely around the crypt.

"Harmony? No way am I wearing Harmony's clothes!"

"Well, you could wear mine, but I think hers might be a better fit. 'Sides, don't want mine smelling of Buffy. Here." He pulled a blanket from the back of the chair and tossed it to her. "I hear the brown blanket look is big on the Paris catwalks this season."

She took the blanket as gracefully as she was able and wrapped it around her shoulders. "So, where is Miss Personality 1999?" Buffy didn't much relish the thought of having to face Harmony's inane ramblings.

"Dunno." Spike gave an unconcerned shrug. "Silly bint went off in the huff earlier because I wouldn't take her to Paris."

"Harmony in Paris!" Buffy snorted. "I can just see her hanging out in the Louvre."

"Only if they've turned it into a designer shopping mall. Not sure she'd appreciate the finer points of the Impressionist movement." Spike grinned. "You know Harmony - brain's not her most outstanding feature."

"That doesn't sound very loyal. Shouldn't you be leaping to her defence or something?"

"Why would I wanna do that?" He gave her a puzzled frown.

"Well, she's you're girlfriend and all. Usually goes along with a certain amount of love and respect."

"For _Harmony_?"

"Point taken. Can't imagine what you see in her."

Spike shrugged. "She's not a bad fu…"

"I think a little too much information there." Buffy interrupted swiftly.

"Well, whatever - at least I don't have your problem."

"Problem? I have no problem." She frowned at him. "What problem?"

Spike examined his beer bottle closely. "How _is_ Captain Cardboard?"

"Riley's fine," Buffy said icily.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "We talking about inappropriate couplings, let's talk about you and him."

"No." Buffy folded her arms and glared. "Let's not."

But Spike wasn't to be stopped. "I mean, anyone can see he's not man enough for you. So – what? You're ready to settle for the solid and reliable? Trade in the passion for the lack of heartbreak?"

"There's passion! There's all sorts of passion!"

"Oh, right! That's why you're out here slayin' every night rather than curled up with lover boy." Spike shook his head. "I've seen you, slayer. You just don't have the air of a satisfied woman."

"Oh, and you'd know all about that!"

"Never had any complaints." He smirked, tongue against teeth.

"Arrogant, much?" Buffy snorted. "This is none of your damned business."

"You brought it up, bangin' on about my choice of bird. Don't mind dishing it out, but don't like takin' it, huh?"

"Riley and me – we're good. And it really isn't any of your business."

"Hey! Just sayin'. You need to get your jollies with a bit of slaying at bedtime, doesn't sound like the man is doing it for you is all." Spike held up his hands.

"Shut up." Buffy glared at him icily.

"Ooo! The slayer's riled!" Spike stood up to face her with a triumphant grin. "At last, a bit of passion!"

"This isn't passion. This is contempt." She locked eyes with him as he moved to stand in front of her.

"Yeah?" his voice was a quiet growl. "Not from where I'm standing." She lashed out and he caught her fist easily. "You know, if it bothers you this much, there has to be somethin' worth botherin' about…"

She pulled her hand away from his grip. "You don't know me. You have no idea…"

"Oh, but I think I do." His eyes held hers. "I think you feel it, too."

"I feel… nothing," she said coldly. She turned away and crossed the crypt, anger coursing through her. The howling wind and rain greeted her as she opened the door and stalked blindly out into the night. _What is it with him? He just never knows when to stop! _Knew exactly which buttons to press to rile her, and boy did he get a kick out of pushing them. _Smug, annoying, irritating, arrogant…_ she pressed on through the storm, the words a mantra in time to her angry steps. She really should just stake him, because she could seriously do without this. In fact, she paused, why not now?

He was right behind her. "You don't love him." He had to shout over the noise of the tempest. She spun around to face him, fighting the urge to lash out. He stood in the pouring rain, suddenly deadly serious, no hint of snark. "You need the fire, slayer. You lose the fire you might as well give up." He even sounded like he cared, and that threw her. "Love's not about the safe."

She stood and looked at him while the elements warred above them and the wind whipped her hair into angry, crackling snakes across her face. As the lightening flashed and thunder shook the ground, she stepped forward and she kissed him.

_xxxxxx_

Later, she tried to rationalise that kiss in her mind.

It was a way to shut him up, stop the speaker-of-truths act, because really it was getting too close to home and, let's face it, nothing else was working – that was all.

It was nothing to do with the sight of him, hair in wet, unruly curls, the rain lashing around him, soaking his t-shirt until it sculpted to the perfect lines of his chest and stomach. Nothing to do with the flash of understanding in those intense blue eyes, the sympathetic softening of his lips, the questioning tilt of his head. Nothing to do with the sudden need to discover the taste of the mouth that riled her so easily, the yearning for the feel of the hard coolness of him against her.

And the burning in her guts that flared as his hesitation and surprise gave way to a deep, bruising kiss, his mouth as desperate and questing as hers – that wasn't desire, it was just suppressed hatred, morbid curiosity, punishment – or… something.

The way she moaned as his mouth moved against hers and his hand found her breast, the way she sobbed his name against his lips as he pushed her against a tomb and she wrapped her legs around his hips and pressed herself against bulge of his crotch, and just the feel of him, hard against the throbbing ache between her legs brought her to a quick, shuddering climax unlike anything she'd felt before – that was just the weather. Something carried over from the spell made her do it, the wild elements messing with her mind, stirring her blood until she just needed… someone convenient.

But the way their kiss lengthened and deepened, the way her release-heavy, tingling body moulded to his, the perfection of the fit, the way everything else faded to nothing beyond the all encompassing sense of him and the way it made her feel, touched her to the core – she couldn't seem to find an excuse for that.

_xxxxxx_

When they finally parted, she opened dazed eyes, her gaze lingering on the full, flushed curve of his lips, moving slowly up to meet his stunned gaze. She became vaguely aware that the rain had stopped, that the wind was dying softly around them, that the sky was just beginning to be touched by soft fingers of light.

"Buffy?" His voice was soft, wondering. He should have sneered. He should have been all snark and big bad swagger, relished her weakness and the way she'd come at his touch, revelled in getting one up on the slayer. She could have coped with that, one way or another. But instead – instead he looked at her like… like he _cared_, like he knew her and he understood her. That touched her at some level deeper than she'd ever known, and _that_ was a scary as hell.

So, naturally, she ran.

_xxxxxx_

"Well, that was a barrel of laughs!" He wasn't sure how long he'd stood there, staring at nothing, before an annoyed voice broke through his thoughts. "I've been standing around outside the cemetery for, like, hours." Harmony picked her way daintily between the puddles. "And this mud is so ruining my Jimmy Choos." She stopped to examine the mud-caked shoes in question. "Now I'll just have to go steal me a new pair. Melanie – you know, big Al's girl? The one with the unconvincing falsies and the skanky dye job? How she thinks she can get away with red hair with her complexion. Dead girls really shouldn't go redhead. Anyway she says it was a spell." She draped her arms around his shoulders from behind and kissed the back of his neck. "How was your night, boo boo? Did you miss me?"

Spike peered thoughtfully off into the distance. "Oh, you know… same old…"

Harmony looked up at the sky. "We'd better get undercover. The sun's coming up." She moved round, rubbing herself seductively against him. "Mmm… my blondie bear hungry? We could go snuggle…"

"Yeah… right…" Spike really wasn't with her.

Harmony gave a puzzled frown at his lack of responsiveness. She reached up to kiss him and then paused. She sniffed his mouth. "What's that smell?" she asked suspiciously.


	2. Rainy Days and Mondays

_He's asleep in his chair when she gets there. He gets to his feet resignedly as the door flies open and she makes her entrance.  
_

_He sighs. "Should have known it's you. Been nearly six hours."_

_  
"Well, it would've been less if I wasn't busy cleaning up your mess. Mud everywhere."_

_  
"My mess? You're the one that pissed off the demon. The mess is yours, Slayer." _

_  
She gives a disbelieving shake of the head. "I'm done." Suddenly the stake is in her hand and she's crossing the crypt toward him. He's watching her with something like surprise. "Spike, you're a killer. And I shoulda done this years ago." _

_She's in front of him now, and he looks her in the eye for a long moment. "You know what?" his voice is tight, the muscles in his jaw line tense with emotion. "Do it. Bloody just do it."_

_  
" What?" She's thrown, confused.  
_

"_End ... my ... torment." His voice is hard. "Seeing you, every day, everywhere I go, every time I turn around. Take me... out of a world... that has you in it!" He tears off his shirt and throws it aside. "Just kill me!"_

_She stares at him, frozen by the look in his eye, and then, with what feels like a monumental effort of will, she raises the stake and lunges. He winces, but he doesn't move and suddenly this all seems wrong and denying how she feels is wrong. She stops at the last minute, and then they're kissing – deep passionate kisses that take her breath away. _

_She pulls back with a cry of dismay, brings her hand to her mouth. They stare at each other, both panting for breath. He has that look again, like the night of the storm – the soft lips parted in surprise, the stunned blue eyes. Slowly she drops her hand from her mouth and walks back to him, puts both her hands to the back of his head and pulls his mouth down to hers. The kiss is all-consuming, the feel of his smooth cool skin intoxicating, a fix to an addiction. He kisses her cheek, the side of her neck. "Buffy ..." His voice is heavy with passion, muffled against her hair.  
_

"_Spike, I want you." His mouth on her is robbing her of rational thought. She's lost in the moment. He pulls back, meets her eye. She gasps, "God, I love you so much…"_

She woke from the dream with a shock and a small cry of despair, and sat bolt upright in the bed. Beside her, Riley stirred restlessly. "Oh, God, no." She stared sightlessly into the darkness, heart racing. "Please, no."

With a whimper, she huddled back under the covers and squeezed her eyes closed. It was a dream. A stupid, stupid dream. Dreams don't mean a darn thing. Besides it was probably just a leftover from the… thing… that happened the night before. An echo of the weather spell. That was all. Not real. She sighed.

But there would be no late night visits to the cemetery for her tonight.

_xxxxxx_

Buffy rested her head against the cool glass of the window and stared out into the wet, dismal street. The heavy, persistent drizzle robbed everything of colour and blurred the edges of the lettering on the store signs across the street. The few people passing by looked as damp and dispirited as the day, huddled under the weight of the gloomy sky. Someone really needed to remind whoever was in charge that this was California, and summer, and they really should be making with the bright, shiny sunshine rather than the dull, depressing drizzle.

Her breath had misted the window and she looked at what she had been idly doodling with her finger in the condensation – a heart and two entwined initials, B and… She gave a squeak and quickly wiped the evidence. Stupid dream.

She turned away from the window with a sigh and wandered slowly back across the magic shop to where Willow, Giles and Xander were quietly researching.

"Still raining?" Willow looked up from her book with a smile.

"Doesn't look like we'll be needing bikinis and SPF 10 any time soon."

"Hey! Don't let the weather stop the bikinis! It's warm enough in here." Xander piped up hopefully.

Willow shook her head sadly. "Global warming. And they said it wasn't happening. Bad politicians."

"I think maybe given the timescale that this particular weather anomaly is more supernatural than man-made." Giles frowned in thought.

Buffy sat down at the table with a heavy sigh. "Tarxu demon," she said absentmindedly.

"Tarxu demon?" Willow looked over at her with a puzzled frown. "Where did you find that?"

"Oh! I… it must have been…" Buffy cast around desperately for an explanation that didn't involve her having to mention Saturday night. "A book. Yes. That was it. Definitely a book."

"Which one?"

"Ah…" Buffy grinned sheepishly "The big one?"

Giles looked at the pile of weighty tomes on the table. "You couldn't be a little more specific?"

"Big and… dusty?" Buffy offered. "And with pages."

"Which narrows our search considerably." Giles sighed. "Do you at least remember what it said?"

"Small, brown, six evil, tentacley arm-type thingies, tendency to kick you in the ankle when you aren't looking. And does things with weather you wouldn't believe," she summed up. "Big on storms."

"And that's it? That's all it said?" Willow raised an eyebrow.

"Well, that's all I remember. What?" Buffy frowned as Giles and Willow exchanged a look. "It was late! I'd spent the whole day looking at books! Things kinda merge."

"OK. Did it mention the small furry animals?"

"You know, I'm not convinced it's big enough to take on the average dog, given what I saw… read!" she corrected herself quickly.

"So maybe it's not our phantom petnapper."

"No, but maybe the weather thing…" Willow frowned in thought.

"OK – so, maybe time to call in the local knowledge." Xander turned to Buffy. "Feel like going and beating up Spike?"

"What? Spike? No! I mean… why?" Buffy flushed.

"Well, you know – short, blond and evil always seems to have the low down on the badness in town. Might be worth pumping him..." Xander shrugged.

"No! There'll be no pumping…!" Buffy flushed furiously. "I mean, he won't know anything. And… and besides… he's been too busy with Harmony…" Buffy frowned and convinced herself that, despite what it felt like, that sharp little tug in her guts wasn't jealousy.

"Harmony? Spike back with _Harmony_? Jeez, he must be desperate!"

"Yeah, well, she's welcome to him." Buffy tried not to pout. "They make quite a couple. Still, at least they can buy the peroxide in bulk. Must save them a fortune."

"Harmony's not a natural blonde?" Willow looked over at Buffy in surprise.

"No way!" Buffy folded her arms. "Bottle blonde. Not convinced she hasn't had a boob job, too."

"You know is it just me or are we coming up against some pretty lame demons right now? Something that steals pooches and something that makes the weather a bit unpleasant? Hardly apocalypse material." Xander shrugged.

"And you're complaining, why, exactly?" Buffy raised an eyebrow.

"Point taken. Actually, the Case of the Disappearing Doggies is causing me some problems. Tell Anya there's an apocalypse looming and she's only concerned it might reduce her pool of customers. Tell her something's doing away with a few pooches and it's all 'Well what are you all waiting for? Get out there and settle it!'."

Buffy smiled. "Where _is_ Anya? Is she still down in the basement?"

"Stocktaking, yeah. She's taking this job very seriously. But you wait until we get a customer…"

The door of the Magic Shop opened with a tinkle of the bell. Within seconds Anya was at the startled-looking customer's side. "Welcome to my shop! Come in. Spend your money." She paused, frowning as if trying to remember something. "Oh, yes! Anything you require please feel free to ask," she said carefully. The woman smiled nervously and picked up a bottle from the table. "But don't touch!" Anya snapped.

Xander grinned. "See what I mean?"

_xxxxxx_

As darkness fell, Buffy was curled up on the sofa next to Riley, determined to enjoy an evening of TV and popcorn. "So – are you going patrolling?" Riley was idly flicking through the channels, looking for something that wasn't Reality TV and struggling to find anything.

"I dunno…" Buffy suddenly seemed very interested in the bucket of popcorn.

"You didn't go last night."

"No. I just felt like a night in snuggling with my cute and sexy boyfriend." She cuddled up to Riley with a smile.

"Sounds good to me." He kissed the top of her head. "But… two nights off? It's not like you. That cemetery's going to be crawling with vampires ready for the staking."

"The cemetery, yeah." Buffy was sort of hoping she'd get away with her avoidance tactics a bit longer. "Aww… Do I have to?" She tried a pout.

"Well, no, you don't have to. But you usually want to. What's the problem?"

"No problem! Why should there be a problem? Why does everyone assume there's a problem? Is it so odd that I might want a night away from the evil undead thing… _things_…?"

"Hey!" Riley held up his hands. "Just saying!"

"Sorry. Yeah. You're right. I should patrol." An idea struck her. "Wanna come with?"

Riley gave her a disbelieving look. "You're asking me to patrol with you?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Well, I always kind of get the impression I'm in the way."

"No! You're never in the way. It's always good to have another pair of stake-wielding hands along, especially when they're attached to such good arms." She stroked his biceps. "Those are good arms to have."

"Thank you for the arm admiration."

"You're welcome." Buffy got to her feet and held out a hand. "C'mon. Let's go kill something."

Riley heaved himself to his feet. "Maybe we'll run into Spike…"

"Oh! Then we could kill _him_!" Buffy said brightly.

"Good as that sounds I was thinking more about trying to get some information out of him. Word on the street about the petnapping and the weather disturbances."

"Humph. Like he'd tell anyway." Buffy shrugged into a jacket and picked up a stake. "He has to be the most annoying, irritating, smug, _pointless_…"

"But still he's here." Riley frowned. "You know, never figured out why you didn't stake him years ago." He held the door open for her.

"Because…" Buffy began as they walked off down the street. She paused. _Because, why, exactly?_ Not like she hadn't had the opportunity, or the provocation. So – why not? Filing that one under 'not to be analysed in too great a depth' Buffy shrugged. "Me neither. And now he has the chip and all, it feels… wrong."

"Spike may be chipped, but don't let it fool you. He's still dangerous."

"He's not fooling me." Buffy frowned. "I know what he is." She hoped she sounded more sure than she felt.

_xxxxxx_

"Quiet night." Riley looked around as they strolled hand and hand between the memorials.

"Hmm?" Buffy was feeling somewhat distracted. "Oh! Right. Quiet. Yeah – quiet as the grave."

"Well, that would be appropriate."

"Mmm…" She frowned into the shadows, straining her eyes to pick out elusive shapes.

"No slaying opportunities?"

"Nope." She let out a sigh and twirled the stake in her free hand.

"So – want to tell me why you're so nervy?"

"Me? Nervy? I am _so_ not nervy."

"Buffy," Riley stopped and put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. "You're jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room fulla rockers What's up?"

"Oh, I dunno. It's just… I thought…" She paused uncomfortably. "I was…" And there it was, the telltale tingle – and, she had come to realise, the Spike-based telltale tingle was somehow much more with the tingle than with other vampires. She looked up at Riley. "You know… given it's quiet and all… and now we have a little bit of free-time… we could maybe…" she snuggled up against him, smiling seductively, "do a little outdoor romancing."

"I though cemeteries weren't romantic?"

"They are when you're here."

"I guess that's a compliment." He bent with a smile to kiss her.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and ran her hands up the broad expanse of his back. He felt warm and solid, well-rounded and smooth edged, comfortable and easy against her, so completely unlike… she forced her obstinate brain resolutely away from that particular direction of thought, brought it determinedly back to the man in hand_. All kinds of good, Riley and me, and there's passion… see?_ She deepened the kiss and pressed herself harder against him, running her hand down to caress his butt and pull him closer. And it felt… _nice_ – he felt nice, and his arms around her were cosy and secure and his kiss was tender and there was nothing wrong with _nice_ and the way it made her feel warm and… loved.

Sadly the moment was somewhat ruined by a disgusted snort from the shadows. Thankfully not in the possession of heightened slayer senses and so completely unaware of their audience, Riley pulled back and looked down at Buffy with a surprised smile. "Wow."

Buffy looked up at him under lowered lashes. "There's no action here. We could go home and make our own…"

"Never one to refuse a lady." Riley put an arm around her shoulder and they headed off across the cemetery. "I should come slaying more often."

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief. There. Point made. No way could he say there was no passion _now_. And then she did it – despite herself she had to go and look back. He was standing half in the shadows, leaning nonchalantly against a tomb, arms folded. When he caught her eye he raised an eyebrow, and shook his head, that knowing smirk firmly in place. She felt an answering surge of heat in the pit of her stomach and looked away quickly, her heart racing. She stared determinedly ahead and bit her lip. Something told her that her little show hadn't fooled either of them.


	3. Heatwave

There was a certain degree of courage-getting-up to be done before Buffy next ventured out on patrol, but in the end she decided the best way to manage this was to get back out there and face up to it like the grown-up and mature slayer she was. And avoid the heck out of Spike in the process, naturally.

Seemed like a plan.

She stalked the cool, night-dark streets, determinedly keeping her mind away from thoughts of irritating leather-clad vampires, and fixed on less scary options, like pet-stealing demons with a penchant for bad weather. Speaking of which… Buffy shivered and pulled her jacket closer around her. The weirdness in the weather was continuing. Tonight a heavy mist hung in oily swathes around the town, coating skin and clothes with an almost slimy, chill moistness. On the plus side she pretty much had the streets to herself – both Sunnydale's demonic and non-demonic residents seem to have opted for the staying indoors option, and who could blame them. On the minus side, the mist had an alarming habit of forming lurky evil-type shapes at the periphery of her vision that, combined with tonight's general nervousness, had her doing a fair impression of Riley's long-tailed cat. Having almost staked an innocent trash can once too often, Buffy took a deep breath, counted to ten and tried to discipline herself. The streets were pretty much deserted and there was absolutely no sign of anyone or thing with evil intentions. And that included Spike. She was just going to do a quick sweep of the area and then head home. How difficult could that be? Feeling somewhat calmer, Buffy wandered on, musing on the lack of demon activity. Did Californian demons, she wondered, dislike the cold and wet more than, say, British ones, who were used to the constant rain and the sogginess? And did French vampires not mind garlic? Were Italian demons more stylish? And _were_ there maybe penguin-eating demons in Antarctica?

Musing on the possible international variations between demons managed to take her mind of her problems for a while. Except – she looked around, suddenly aware of her surroundings – except that her aimless wandering seemed to have brought her to the cemetery. She straightened her shoulders and shrugged. No big. Natural enough place for a slayer's aimless wanderings to take her after all. And, OK, so this was the way to Spike's crypt, but it wasn't the only way, just _a_ way, and it was the way to other places, too, places like… like… well, just other places. She groaned and sat down heavily on a nearby tomb. This was getting ridiculous.

There had to be a reason for the way her feelings toward Spike seemed to have changed. A logical explanation that didn't involve her actually caring for him, which would be wrong on so many levels, or having totally lost her mind, which she was beginning to think might be an option. _Oh! A spell. Yes!_ That was it! Someone, or something, had cast a spell. There was no other way to account for the… _feelings_… she had for Spike. So – all she had to do was talk to Willow and get her to check it out. Which would mean telling Willow. About the… _feelings_. And then if it wasn't a spell, Willow would know and how embarrassing would that be and _admitting_ how she would somehow make it more real and…

"Ohhhh…" she wailed quietly, searching for an appropriate word to cover the situation, "Bollocks!" When it came to words appropriate to cover the situation, Spike had the best ones.

"My, my slayer, and you a lady." Spike's voice purred from the shadows.

"Spike!" Buffy leapt guiltily off the tomb and spun around to face the smirking vampire.

"Buffy." He looked at her, head tilted in query.

After a moments flustered embarrassment, Buffy's hit-first-ask-questions-later instinct took over. "Don't take this the wrong way but..."

Spike put a hand to his just-punched nose and frowned. "Ow! What the hell was that for?"

She folded her arms. "What are you doing here? Five words or less."

He held up his hand and counted the words on his fingers. "Out. For. A. Walk..." he paused and put up his thumb. "Bitch."

Buffy snorted. "Out for a walk at night in the cemetery. You expect me to…" she stumbled to a halt. _And where else would a vampire be?_ "Oh."

He gave her a long look. "More to the point is what are _you_ doin' here?"

"You know, contrary to your self-involved world-view, your crypt just happens to be directly between parts... and other parts of this town," Buffy blustered. "Vampire lurkey parts full-of evil-dead-type slaying opportunities - where a slayer needs to be. And I'm the slayer. I have every reason to be here!" She glared up at him.

"Well, me too!" Spike had a good line in glaring, too.

"Right. OK. Well, good." She shrugged, tried for the businesslike. "So - keep going, I cut you a break."

"Oh, yeah. Okay, let me guess... you won't kill me? Wooo... the whole

crowd-pleasing threats-and-swagger routine. How stunningly original. Seem to remember that particular theme was the one you were hummin' last time we met." He raised an eyebrow and pressed his tongue against his teeth. "But there wasn't much slayin' goin' on then, now, was there?"

He reached up to touch her cheek and she slapped his hand away. "Last time was… I mean… it wasn't…" Words failed her in the face of his raised eyebrow and lazy smile and she plunged on desperately. "You know, I'm just passing through. Satisfied? You know, I really hope so, because…because you need some… some… satisfaction in your unlife besides… besides doing… whatever it is you do with Harmony and no," she held up a hand as he smirked and opened his mouth to speak, "I don't want the details and… she's welcome to you and... and you have stupid hair." She spun on her heels, gathered the tattered remnants of her dignity around her and stalked off into the night.

Spike watched her go with a perplexed frown. _What the hell was all that about?_ He shook his head, folded his arms and leaned back against the tomb recently vacated by the slayer. His frown deepened and he pressed a hand against the worn stone. Warm. _Still _warm. Whoever had been sitting here had been sitting here a long while. The frown became a slow smile. Just passing through, huh? This was getting interesting. Shrugging his duster straight, he set off in the direction she'd taken, predatory grin firmly in place.

Cringing embarrassment accompanied Buffy's angry progress across the cemetery. _Stupid **hair**?_ What was she, six? She _so_ had to get a grip on this! Whatever was going on here, it had to stop, because being reduced to brainless babbling in front of Spike, of all people, was _not_ to the good. So, next time she saw him she'd be all with the cool, calm and collected and the… the disdain. Yup, disdain would be right. Disdain with a side order of contempt. Maybe a little scorn.

She got her chance earlier than she expected. Rounding a corner determinedly, there he was, perched quietly on a tombstone by the cemetery exit. Buffy stopped abruptly, blinked and looked around with a perplexed frown. How did he _do_ that? She folded her arms and glared at him. "And here you are again…"

"She left me," he said quietly, not looking up.

"What?" Buffy was confused by the sudden change in his demeanour.

"Harmony. She left me."

"Oh! I…" She rallied. "Well, who can blame her? Even Harmony's not that brainless!"

"Yeah," he sighed heavily. "You're right."

"I am?" Buffy felt a sudden and unexpected pang of sympathy in the face of the dejected slump of his shoulders and downcast eyes. "Look, I'm sorry," she hesitated, "I guess."

"Give a girl everythin' she wants – well," he shrugged, "more or less; Paris was never really on, you know? – give her the best of everythin', think it's all hunky-dory…" he gave a quiet, wry laugh.

Buffy looked down at his hanging head. "Oh. That's… a shame." She hesitated, and then sat next to him cautiously. "What happened?" she asked carefully. "I mean, not like I care or anything, but..."

He shook his head sadly, and Buffy felt oddly moved. Maybe she'd misjudged him after all… "It was the other night. She said… she said…" he looked up at Buffy, and a slow smile curved his lips, "She said I had Buffy-breath."

Buffy jumped to her feet. So much for the misjudging. "Look," she began severely. "The other night never happened," she hesitated, "OK, yes, it did happen… but it wasn't what you thought it was." Spike grinned, clearly not convinced. "No! Really!" The grin was joined by a disbelieving head tilt. "You and me… it's not… I mean, there is no you and me. I'm with Riley! I love Riley… and… and… that… thing with you was just… an accident."_ I accidentally came when you kissed me? Oh, God,_ she found herself thinking, _stop!_ _Now!_ But brain and mouth weren't co-operating with each other. "And besides… besides…" Buffy cast around desperately for something to get her out of this mess. "Oh!" And there it was. _Thank the Lord…_ A familiar brown shape shuffled out from behind a gravestone and made to pass them, apparently unconcerned by their presence. "Hey! You!" The Tarxu demon went blithely on its way, ignoring Buffy's shouts completely. Buffy growled. "Oh, you are _so_ dead."

"Buffy! No!" Spike grabbed her arm. "Don't!"

She glared at him and shook herself free. "You do not tell me what to do!" She turned away and launched herself at the small, brown shape. "I'm gonna take that out before we have any repeats of the storm fiasco!"

"It's a Tarxu demon! It…!" Spike's warning shout came too late. As Buffy's fist made contact with what she assumed was the head end of the amorphous brown lump, there was a squeak and a sudden cloud of inky blackness that enveloped her in a miasma of eye-watering dust. Spike sighed. "…does that…" he continued.

Buffy peered down at the dark smears covering her skin and clothes. "Ewww…" She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "What…?" was all she managed to say before her eyes closed and she collapsed in a crumpled heap at Spike's feet.

Spike rolled his eyes. "… which leads to that," he finished finally. He glared down at the unconscious slayer. "Stupid bint," he muttered, frowning in annoyance. He nudged her recumbent form with his boot while the Tarxu demon chuckled its way off into the night.

_Now what?_

Spike sniffed and shrugged. Whatever. Best leave her here. If she was too bloody stubborn to listen to good advice, she deserved all she got. Not his problem. He went to move away, then hesitated. But then she'd be prey to whatever nasty happened along, wouldn't she? He frowned. _And why exactly should that bother him? One less slayer in the world had to be good. Especially one less Buffy. No reason he should care._ He growled and rolled his eyes. Except it seemed that he did. Only because if there was any offing of the slayer to be done, then he was going to be the one to do it, of course. _Yeah._ Once he got rid of the soddin' chip, naturally.

So – no leaving her here. He gave a resigned sigh, bent down and picked up the unconscious slayer, vaguely surprised at how light she was, how delicate her body felt – hell of a lot of punch in those few fragile pounds. Bloody good job they were _unconscious_ fragile pounds…

He hesitated. Now what? Take her home, back to the tender care of her little mates? He winced. And they'd believe he had nothing to do with this? He really wasn't in the mood for a round of inane insults from idiot boy and the witch, not to mention Giles' stiff-upperlipped annoyance and barely concealed dislike.

So… only one thing to do, then.

_Bollocks._

Sighing heavily and muttering curses against Tarxu demons, Buffy and the world in general – but mostly Buffy – Spike lugged his load back to his crypt.

_Passions_ was almost halfway through when a groaningnoise from the blanket-wrapped shape on the sarcophagus announced Buffy was regaining consciousness. Spike winced, settled deeper in his armchair, fixed his eyes on the screen and prepared himself for a Buffy bollocking.

There was the sound of struggling, followed by a thump as her attempts to free herself from the blanket dumped her unceremoniously on the crypt floor. The small meep of pain was followed by a very unladylike curse. Spike tried to settle deeper in the armchair.

"_Spike…_" A very un-Buffy-like whine made him turn. She was standing, swaying gently on unsteady legs, looking around in bewilderment. Spike's heart sank. "Mmph… hot." Buffy pushed her hair away from her flushed face and turned her confused and unfocussed gaze on Spike. "Why is it so hot?"

_Bugger._ He'd kind of hoped that this particular effect of the Tarxu's defence mechanism wouldn't have worked on Buffy, given she was supposed to be all superpowered-up with slayer mojo and all.

"It's not." Spike sighed. "It's the fever. From the Tarxu demon stuff. Gets humans like that – not vampires luckily." He turned away and kept his attention firmly fixed on the screen. "You'll survive."

"But I'm hot…" Buffy whined.

"Best thing for that is run along home. Stick your head in the 'fridge. Get lover boy to hose you over… whatever."

"Too hot to go home…" Buffy muttered.

"Look…" Spike turned in time to see Buffy kicking her way out of her jeans. "Hey..!" He leapt to his feet in protest, and then paused as Buffy ripped her t-shirt over her head. _Oh, I dunno…_ His eyes travelled appreciatively over her slim body. _Maybe she'd be better off without the clothes…_ "Gah!" He shook his head. This was trouble. Big, Buffy-shaped trouble. Big, naked-in-his-crypt Buffy-shaped trouble. Could there be a worst kind? "Hey! Stop that!" He stood up and tried to grab her arms.

She pushed him off impatiently and glared at him. "Hot!" she growled.

"I don't care how bloody hot you are…" Spike tried frantically to stop Buffy unclipping her bra. "Will you stop!"

Buffy stopped and peered up at him woozily. "You! You're cool. Sit." She gave him a push that sent him sprawling back into the armchair and began to tug at his T-shirt shirt. "Off!" Feverish or not, slayer strength hadn't deserted her and after a brief scuffle, Spike was at least partly relived of his t-shirt. As he struggled to loosen the tight, black cotton ligature that had resulted from Buffy's determined attempts to strip him, she curled on to his lap, pressing her hot skin against the smooth coolness of his chest. "Better," she sighed happily.

"Get off!" Spike sat rigidly in the chair as Buffy made herself comfortable against him.

"No. Sit still." She wrapped and arm around him and snuggled closer.

"Buffy…!"

"Shhh. Sleep now."

"But… I… you…" Spike gritted his teeth and tried again. "Look, pet, you've got a fever. You're not rational, an'…"

"Cooler, though…" she sighed. "Better."

"But… I… you… Oh, bloody hell!" Spike gave in. He pushed a lock of hair away from her forehead and she smiled. "You know how much you're gonna regret this when you wake up? Which always means I'm gonna regret it even more…"

"Shut up…" Buffy murmured sleepily, wriggling deeper into his lap. Spike winced. The presence of her soft, warm body was having increasingly uncomfortable effects. Not that he found her attractive, no way. Bloody slayer with her nasty little nose and her… her ridiculous bouncy shampoo-commercial hair and that whole soddin' holier-than-thou attitude Rather fuck… hell, even Harmony than her. He shifted slightly to ease the pressure on a certain rapidly enlarging part of his anatomy and was rewarded by another wiggle from the almost asleep slayer that didn't help matters at all. Automatic reaction, that was all. Could have been anyone, and the same thing would happen. Nothing personal.

Buffy's breathing settled and deepened as she drifted into sleep, her body soft and pliant, moulding to his. He looked down at her, at the slight dampness of her hair where it sprang from her scalp, the soft fan of her lashes against her flushed cheek, the curve of a sun-bronzed arm, warm against the porcelain-paleness of his chest, and felt a surge of… _something_…

He groaned and rested his head against the back of the chair.

Evil, remember? She slayer. He vampire. Mortal enemies. _What the hell was going on here?_ He tried to discipline his thoughts. She was at his mercy! He could do what ever he wanted – he shifted uncomfortably as the thought of what he wanted caused another surge of activity in the area trapped uncomfortably under the slayer's pert butt. Yeah – well, there was that. And then maybe the chip wouldn't fire if she was spark out. Maybe he could get rid of her, get her out of his world, out of his hair, stop her haunting his every moment. She wouldn't be able to do a thing about it… A slow smile curved his lips. _Yeah… not a thing…_

_This, _he thought determinedly,_ has got to end._

Buffy murmured and shifted against him. Her fever-rapid pulse began to slow and he felt her relax into deeper sleep. The determination left him with the soft, contented sigh of her breath that teased against his skin. He bent his head and cautiously rested his lips softly against her head, closed his eyes and breathed the scent of her. There it was again – the surge of something he'd thought he'd never feel again. The sudden urge to protect the sleeping girl, to hold her close, kiss away her nightmares and make it better. Which given she was the slayer, and quite capable of taking care of herself, was bloody stupid on the whole.

No. Nothing personal at all.

_Oh, bollocks. Buggering bollocks. **Soddin'** buggering bollocks. What a mess._

With a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her, made himself as comfortable as he was able, and settled in for a long night.

He was going to suffer for this in the morning.


End file.
